The Alley Girls
by Lady Gondiel
Summary: Patricia Knock's father is a mortician in KnockturnAlley.Olivia Scrounge's father writes traveling books and partly owns a traveling agency in DiagonAlley.One girl is shy and timid,the other outgoing and confident.Strangely enough,they're best friends.


A knock in Knockturn-alley

Please have mercy, this is my first fanfiction ever. Unless you count on all the plotbunnies that have been living in my head for a long time.

A little oneshot, with a character that has been running around in my head for ages.

I don't own anything but my own ideas and characters, the rest is the property of the lovely J.K. Rowling

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When you walk down knockturn-alley, you will see many strange and wicked sights.

Beggars sitting in the corners, rattling with their tin cups, hats and even one holding an old skull can be spotted on the dark corners, begging the strangers for a few knuts.

And street vendors trying too sell you human fingernails, and other thing you really don't want too know the identity of.

You can go into "Borgin and Burkes" if you are looking for a rare and dangerous find.

Or buy illegal potion ingredients off the old hag standing by her wagon.

Very few that come in here, come here for a purpose that would not get you thrown into Azkaban for a while.

But the few that do, go down to the end of the alley, and at the end on the left side where an old shop stands.

The shop front is not as dirty as the rest of the alley. And the small windows that stand on either side of the door seem to shine, as if they had just been cleaned, and white lilies stand inside on the window sill.

The door itself has a large window, and a newly shined brass door handle and knocker.

The knocker is a grimly smiling skull, holding the knocker between its teeth.

Above the door a sign hangs, in the middle there is an hourglass. Standing as the symbol &, between the word "Knock" on the top, and the word "son" below. And below that, the golden numbers proclaim that the shop has been there since the year of 1665, and that the doors lead you into the shop of the mortician.

When one walks inside, a small set of bells play a quick little piece of Chopins Funeral march.

The floor is an old graying wooden floor that seems to not have been replaced since the shop was set up. The wall paper is of gray color with black vertical lines, and upon it hangs a few candle holders with lit candlesticks.

There is a desk opposite the door, almost against the wall, if it wasn't for the stairs that went from the left side of the desk to the right side, and lead upstairs to some of the private rooms.

And in the corner left from the door underneath one of the windows, a set of two purple armchairs surrounds a small dark brown table laden with numbers of magazines about coffins and gravestones, and handbills advertising about a new stonemason shop.

There are doors to the left and to the right of the desk, leading into the coffin showroom and the mortuary.

The showroom is filled with coffins of all shapes and sizes. Coffins made of oak, ebony, redwood and many others, stand in the room. A large collection of them are colored.

Red, blue, green, yellow and even purple colored coffins can be found.

The door to the mortuary is closed, for not many of the customers want to see more than necessary.

It is the year 1991, on a cold may evening.

The mortician Albin Knock sits behind his desk, almost falling asleep over the paperwork in front of him. His square glasses are at the tip of his nose slowly sliding off, while the gray eyes behind them try to keep themselves open.

Albin Knock scratches his straight coal black hair that falls just to his chin. It has been a long day, and he can't wait to get under the duvet next to his wife Herdis, that has finally come home from her job at Sankt Mungo's emergency department.

He doesn't hear the door to the upstairs open, nor the sound of the small feet that hop down the stairs, and sneak up to him.

He sits there yawning, until he feels a tug on his robe. He looks down and sees his four year old daughter.

"What is it Patricia? Can't fall asleep?"

Patricia shakes her head, with the same color hair as her fathers. The shoulder length hair flies around her.

Her little gray green eyes, looks pleadingly right into her fathers.

"Come here princess" He reaches for her and sits her on his knees.

"Can you read me a story papa" The little voice still sounds a bit groggy.

"I have a better idea, what if I read you a poem"

Patricia looks inquiring at her father.

"Can you see that piece of paper in a frame on the wall" He points to his right, where it hangs.

The scripture on the old yellowing paper, looks like it was written in the same stile as the monks of old used. The first letter in the poem was even bigger than the others. Painted in the color red, and surrounded by blue in a small golden frame of its own.

His daughter nods.

"It's an old poem written long ago, by our forefather Theodor Knock. He loved to write poetry, and hung his favorite one up on the wall. You can say it has become the family saying"

"Read it to me papa. Pleeeaaase"

He tries to look as if he is considering to do it, or not to do it.

But his play quickly stops, as he sees her smile. She misses her front teeth, and sticks her tongue in and out of the gap.

He chuckled at the sight

"Alright, alright"

He cleared his throat loudly.

"There's always a Knock in Knockturn-alley.

Not on the mountain, not in the valley.

Just walk in here, and have no fear.

Even if there has been wept many a tear.

Service will be offered without a word said.

All your demands will no doubt be met.

The body you have there in your arms.

Will be fixed up with all our charms.

A quick little fix.

And your heart may start to mend.

For there's one thing certain.

We will stand here at ev'ry mans end."

"What did you think of that little spring princess?"

He looked down on her, and smiled fondly at her when he saw that she was fast asleep.

"Well, that was my first reaction too. But we better get you up in bed little lady"

He carefully puts the paperwork in the desk drawer, while holding her with his left arm.

Pushes the chair backwards, pulls his wand out and whispers a nox on the wall-lights.

And goes upstairs to tuck Patricia up in bed, and get himself a well deserved night of sleep next to his beautiful wife.


End file.
